


View From The Semi-Top

by Audlie45



Series: Laing's Continued Adventures [2]
Category: British Actor RPF, High-Rise (2015), Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Book References, Book Spoilers, Characters Reserved to Death, Dark, Dead Body, Drugging, Gen, Mentions of Nathan Steele, Mentions of Richard Wilder, No Smut, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 23:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6304216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Audlie45/pseuds/Audlie45
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laing reflects on his life and plans ahead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	View From The Semi-Top

**Author's Note:**

> A prequel of sorts to Our Tiny Grace. No smut. Dark and related to the book. This book is seriously taking over my life and I love the darkness. Was listening to the new soundtrack for the movie when this idea hit me so yeah just had to write it out. Feedback is always welcome!

It’s all so perfect. So impossibly perfect and flawed in its own right. The outside world, made up with its seemingly free constraints on society, keeping the disgusting and gluttonously blood thirsty from their pleasures. Pushing us to our confinements that leave us more freedom than we could ever have in the outside world.

Laing mused to himself as he stared off into the distance. The newest high rise already having it’s revels, it’s first steps of infancy to freedom. Only four or so cars destroyed, only two death, as far as he could see. A possible kindred spirit from afar stepped out only to turn tail and rush back in as he had so long ago, only to never return to the light again.

Looking past his neighbors he spots the landscape of the prison he once lived. Everyone tottering about, doing this and that according to what they should be, far past his vision. Their lives unknowingly controlled, given the facsimile of what they were expected to be and only few able to break the mold.

His home, his tower, his castle peak in the sky, his high rise allowed him the freedom of what his heart desired.

Turning around to peer through the open doorway to the bedroom he sees his sister, Alice, and Eleanor. The two already taken to feeding themselves to the cat. Greedy little feline nibbling hungrily at their flesh, gave him the urge to return to the bed with them and bask in all their filth.

The rancid scent that permeated through the apartment-no the entire building-was the smell of home for him now. No other fragrance as sweet and welcoming.

His eyes momentarily blinded by the sun's slow descent, finally reaching his vision, reminding him of the time. He made eye contact with Alice as she looked up, knowing exactly what time it was and what was to come but not caring all the same. It had become routine and she knew her and Eleanor’s deaths were near but she reserved herself to that fact long ago.

She only hoped Steele wouldn’t paint her in any atrocious colors. She looked terrible in mustard yellow.

Laing turned to the kitchen to get his supplies and prepare their meal. The morphine mixed easily with the canned beans and stale biscuits he’d found in an abandoned apartment two floors up. He was surprised to find them, the entire apartment having been ransacked and looted months ago. He’d found an accountant slumped over the food, Steele having reached him before with his face painted but not moved like the others, his body most likely stiff from death far before Steele had reached him. Laing only had to push him over and he easily clunked to the floor on his side revealing the food. A stroke of luck really.

He prepared the meal noticing his supplies running low. He only had enough for maybe three more meals and then they would most likely begin withdrawals and, in their state, most likely die. Well, might as well quicken the inevitable he thought as he poured the remaining supply into their meal.

The two were losing his interest and he’d already been eyeing a woman and husband four floors up who’d been attacked by Wilder and his hoard of children for their food. That man and his childish ways, running amuck, naked as the day he was born, as if this were his own private playground. Laing imagined he no longer speaks intelligibly anymore, having taken to grunting and violence for communication.

His only dilemma, finding a new supply of morphine. How could he keep his patients without coercion? He needed to restock but his only options were outside of the high rise.

Was he ready for that?


End file.
